Racer

“You like that?” he rasps against my mouth, easing back to look down at me. He’s shirtless, his hair chaotic, and his one dimple appears as I nod vigorously. So vigorously my head almost snaps.

“What else do you like, huh?” he rasps, pulling me closer, sliding his warm hands around my waist and then sliding them up my back to unfasten my bra as his mouth brushes across my jaw, teasing my lips. “What else do you like, Lana?”

“I like when you call me Lana.”

“You do, do you?”

“Yes. It makes me feel like a woman, and I like feeling like a woman when I’m with you.”

“What other ways do you like to feel, huh?” he husks as he pulls my top over my head and drinks me in, in my bra and jeans.

“You know what?” His eyes scan me, head to toe, and he slips his hand under my jeans to grab and massage my butt. “I want to lick you up head to toe until I’ve tasted every inch of you, and then I want to do it again.”

He ducks his head, pressing his mouth to my ear, licking my earlobe and then behind my ear. The tickles are everywhere, in my wet spot especially, and the tips of my breasts and my chest.

“Racer …” I slip my arms around him and trail my fingers up the muscles of his back, my body arching against his, moving in this aching, cutting need to get closer to him. To feel his warmth, feel that he wants me.

He presses his hard—bulging—jeans against me and there’s not even a doubt about that. I feel his hardness biting into my abdomen as he grabs me by the underarms and lifts me up to turn me around and sit me on top of the couch rest.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart,” he reassures me as he curls his palm around my cheek and scrapes his thumb along my lower lip, his eyes bright and fiery. “I want to make you feel so good you’ll scream from it—you’ll think you’re floating tomorrow. But right now I’m going to thrust into you so hard you’ll think you’re breaking. ‘Cause I swear to god every time you look at me with desire in your eyes, you’re breaking me.”

He tugs my jeans down, and then my panties. I feel completely exposed as he nudges my legs apart and runs his greedy gaze along my pussy. “Fucking perfect,” he rasps, his gaze bright blue as he feathers his finger over my folds.

He frees his cock and teases my folds with the tip of his thick length, and I almost come by this.

“Take me,” he growls.

I’m practically breaking from the pleasure.

He cups my breast. My nipple is puckered and sensitive and every time he rubs the pad of his thumb across the peak I nearly spasm from how good it feels. And as he drives inside me, I have never in my life felt so full.

“Take me,” he says again, driving into me.

I take him with a groan, arching up, nails in his scalp, teeth in his jaw.

“Fuck! FUCK!” he growls, pulling out.

I watch him struggle to find something in his jeans, then he pulls out the condom and slides it on.

I almost tell him to forget it.

I think he notices my desperation when he looks down at me. Because something in him seems to snap. Something in me seems to snap. We’re suddenly tearing at each other’s very skin as he lifts me up in his arms.

He carries me to the bed and falls down on top of me.

“Oh god,” I plead, clutching his jaw as our mouths twirl and fight around.

He grabs my face and presses his mouth down harder on mine, groaning when I open without a fight.

“God, I’ve been hungering for this sweet mouth, this sweet bod of yours.” He holds me still as he twists his head this way and that, doing things to my mouth that should be outlawed, accessing from one side and then the other, his tongue tasting and taking everything while his hands simply hold me here—breathless, toe-curling, tingling in every pore—as Racer’s tongue moves and takes. And takes. And takes.

And I let him take because my whole body is a live flame, because every time he takes from me I want to give him more, because every time he takes from me he fills me with the most delicious sensations, the most wicked sensations, the most pleasurable feelings I’ve ever had in my life. His kisses are driving my heart to near heart attack and my lungs to work like crazy, and my skin to pull taut, and my muscles to constrict with waiting.

“You okay with this, huh?” he growls, easing back to look at me, panting hard.

He’s spread out his body over mine, the muscles of his shoulders rippling as he curls his arms at my sides and frames my face with his hands as I nod.

I nod and nod frantically, looking into his eyes, seeing something very deep and raw inside those dark baby blues.

“Fuck me, girl,” he hisses to himself as he smothers my mouth with his, his mouth wet and passionate as he strokes his right hand down my front, squeezing my breast like he just needed to be unleashed.

His cock drifts along my folds, to and fro, teasingly.

My eyes drift shut and I hear myself groan softly. I swear I’d never before in my life heard myself make this kind of noise.

Racer is breathing hard, in the dark.

His own breaths mingle with my own and with the sound of his hands, stroking across my skin.

It feels so good, I am shivering uncontrollably, his body hot as he looms above me, one of his thighs jammed between mine, his chest close to my own, so that every simultaneous breath of ours makes my nipples nearly touch his own.

He’s got really tough palms—the palms of a guy that’s holding a steering wheel for hours straight, fighting against it even when it wants to pull back. Feeling his strong, large hands cup my breasts makes me feel about as physically fragile as I am feeling emotionally fragile right now.